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Brink

© 2000, Roy Stucky

I don't know why my sight is out of synch.
I don't know why when I look in your eyes
I want to cry.

Sometimes I just sit and stare and think.
Sometimes razor dreams burst from the haze
That shrouds my days.

I feel that I'm swaying on the brink.
I feel my feet are near the line
Through my mind.

Spin around in circles dancing madly past the tune.
Clutch at shadows flashing shrieking all around the room.
Something moving silent will arrive here very soon.
Will it trumpet hope or will it thunder out your doom?

 

But on the edge of discarding the familiar world's attainments, see "Needle's Eye", I fear I am making a dreadful mistake. Is the realm I am about to enter paradise or wasteland?